Gamomania. It's the nearly uncontrollable desire to make outrageous, over-the-top or simply odd marriage proposals. I also found it listed as gamonomania and an interpretation of this can also be the overwhelming desire to get married, sometimes resulting in polygamy.
Consider the difficulties for a person suffering from this mania (I'm thinking especially of the variety leading to polygamy--I remember hearing tales of men who occasionally kept several wives and families, totally separate from each other and were essentially living multiple lives at the same time--sounds exhausting to me!). Try writing a snippet that shows a case of gamomania in action. I'll post mine here...
Stefan fingered the flocked box nestled in his coat pocket. 3 carats, pink, emerald cut. Size 7. It was surely no Darya-i-Nur, but it was the most he could afford for his Indian princess. He smiled as she entered the room and allowed herself to be led to his table in the bustling restaurant's center. Thick black hair shimmered and flowed down around her face and shoulders like a waterfall on a moonless midnight. She smiled at him, all elegance and lithe grace.
The host pulled out her chair and with a soft rustle of silk, she sat. Her eyes glittered with golden flecks as her gaze skimmed the room. Stefan's breath caught in his throat as he waited for her approval.
She looked at him again, lips twisting in a grin, gently slanted eyes crinkling at their edges. She reached across the table and took his hand. "It is beautiful, Stefan--extravagant," Alanni whispered.
Stefan exhaled. He was certain he was grinning foolishly now. There was nothing and no one else in the restaurant but his Alanni. The mood lighting, the waitstaff, the exotic dishes and other restaurant guests all evanesced. The room seemed to shimmer and he was suddenly seeing her before the altar with him, dressed like a goddess, surrounded by flowers and candles, a final ring winking on her finger.
His heart raced. He slipped out of his seat and onto one knee, never letting go of her hand. Around him was a flutter of activity he barely noticed, so fixed was he on her and their inevitable future.
A waiter stepped in, ready with champagne and glasses. A violinist struck up a sweet tune and approached on nimble feet. And in the restaurant, all eyes turned to Stefan on his knee.
He cleared his throat. "Alanni, every moment we are together fills me with such joy that I know I cannot live any longer without you forever at my side. Your eyes, your laugh and your generous nature--all these strengths of yours have brought us to this one moment."
She was tearing up. He pulled the box from his pocket and snapped open the lid, one-handed. She gasped.
"Will you, Alanni Arasaratnam, marry this most unworthy man?"
"The Hell she will."
Stefan blinked and the splendor of the setting was shattered by a dour-looking middle-aged woman standing before him, fists balled on her ample hips.
"Stefan? Stand up, Steven, you dumbass. You aren't getting married to her."
"Or anyone else. My god, Stevie. Don't you have enough wives?" Another one of them had stepped forward. "Thank god we found each other on the internet."
Now clearly out of his happy haze, Steven was confronted by Nancy, Susan, Debbie and Marie. Not a one of them looked pleased.
"So this is your business conference?" Marie snapped, crossing her arms. Sweet little Marie's eyes glowed like the bowels of hell when she got angry. Steven fell into his chair, Alanni quickly forgotten as the desire for self-preservation took prominence.
"Business conference?" Susan chortled. "I was told he was scouting out a new investment property." Susan's normally joking demeanor was cold as ice. "So is she what you're trying to stake out? Crap, you could have at least used a different proposal!"
Debbie just snorted through her perfectly dainty nose.
Nancy opened and closed her fists. "What shall I tell the children, Steven?"
"How many do you have?" Marie asked, widening her stance. "I have two."
"Three," Nancy growled, pulling her hair back in a knot.
"One," Susan quipped, stepping out of her heels.
"Guess I was the favorite of this clumsy-handed sloppy kisser," Debbie added between snorts and angry puffs. She picked up one of Susan's shoes. "I have 4 kids at home. What do you say to a hit per kid?"
Nancy rolled up her sleeves in response.
And Steven just sat there, thinking they had all been so much prettier wearing white...